


not quite oxfordian

by sunflowerbright



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cuties, F/F, Fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, it should have anyway, mainly just an excuse to write fluff and exasperated 'ponine, slightly on the side of crack, this is basically written bc i'm freaking out over my own exams, warnings for freakouts about exams and studying, yes studying has a warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:42:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerbright/pseuds/sunflowerbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cosette is starting to scare her girlfriend. Just a little bit. </p><p>But that's what exams do to you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not quite oxfordian

 

Eponine is awoken by a loud scream, and it’s a good thing she is used to chaos and shouting, because it means she merely jolts awake and lies there for a little while with her heart beating a little out of turn, instead of immediately storming forward to see what’s happening.

Then she realises that it was _Cosette_ screaming, and she’s out of bed right away, nearly tripping over her too-long pajamas in her haste to get into the kitchen, which seems to be were the scream originated.

“What’s hap…” oh. She stops herself, because… well. Clearly it’s obvious what has happened.

Cosette’s school-bag has exploded.

There are papers and books, notes and pencils _everywhere_ , on the table, on the floor, psychology volumes stacked in the sink and heavy domes of literature nearly toppling over in the windowsill. There is even a sharp pen pinning a graded essay to the ceiling.

And Cosette is sitting in the middle of it all looking pale and angry and teary-eyed.

“Um…”

“I can’t find it!” Cosette hisses, throwing notes everywhere, and how the hell… the kitchen most definitely _did not_ look like this last night when Grantaire had been over to cry about his boyfriend, or even a few hours after that when Enjolras had come to collect said crying boyfriend. How the hell did Cosette manage to terrorize the place like this in a matter of… it can’t be more than an hour. They went to bed late last night, and didn’t sleep for a while, and Cosette would not be up two hours after _that_ already. She’d need at least four hours sleep. At least.

But moving on.

“Can’t find what?”

_“I can’t find my stapler!”_

“Your…” oh goddamit. “Is it that by the coffee-pot?”

Cosette’s braids swish everywhere as she lifts her head to stare in the general direction of the coffee-pot, and then she lets out a sound rather like a magpie seeing something shiny, and flings herself forwards with the speed of a mother trying to rescue her baby.

“Oh, sweetheart, there you are!” she whispers _to the stapler_ , and Eponine rolls her eyes.

“Should I be getting jealous?”

The girl smiles widely at her. “Thank-you,” she practically dances forwards and envelops Eponine in a hug, burying her face in her neck. “Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

There is not a lump in her throat, not at all. She awkwardly pats her girlfriend’s head, not sure what to say. “It’s just a stapler.”

“It’s the stapler that holds my whole future together!”

“Okay, you’re being over-dramatic, it’s a stapler, it’s just a few exams, and you are going to do great. You always do great. You’re a genius.”

It’s true. Cosette’s an actual genius. An actual genius who is currently having a breakdown over a stapler, and that is a little worrying. Eponine frowns.

“Have you had anything to eat?”

“Yeah,” Cosette pulls away a little, looking up at her, still holding tightly. “Can I make you coffee? As a deep and heartfelt thank-you?”

“There’s a pencil sticking out of the coffee-machine, I don’t actually think you can. Also, you need to clean up your mess.”

Cosette blinks, eyes wide in innocence. “What mess?” she looks behind her. “That’s not a mess, those are my notes!”

“And this is my kitchen,” Eponine mutters. “And I currently can’t see it. My kitchen’s gone. All there’s left is your mess.”

“Sorry,” Cosette mumbles, and she suddenly looks less pale and tired and frustrated, and much more… flushed. She leans forward, lips brushing her cheek. “Let me make it up to you.”

Eponine grins. “And then you can clean up and make me coffee.”

“I hate you,” Cosette tells her, before proceeding make an even bigger mess of the kitchen.

And okay. Eponine might have helped this time. Just a little.

 


End file.
